dear x: the boy who blocked his own shot

dear x,

sometimes i wonder if you saw the sunset. maybe you watched the clouds around the sun fade from brilliant gold to murky lemonade to dark.

sometimes i wonder if your shoe caught on the edge too, where carpet meets linoleum in the airport terminal after the security checkpoint.

do you still eat taco bell at midnight? do you prefer mountain dew to dr. pepper? do you indulge in a few chocolate covered raisins, or have you deemed twix your favorite candy?

sometimes i wonder if you need me and then don't.

sometimes i wonder if you fill your hours distracting yourself from wanting to share little moments with me-- like we used to. i am terrified, x, of quietly losing small things to my memory. i will probably remember all the big milestones; but what about those collective fragments of time that just slip away, like shedding a strand of hair at the supermarket.

sometimes i think i smell you in the middle of the night. i am writing you this love letter, x, to let your shadow of love lost know this: i am often consumed by the details and my inability to share with you the simultaneously mundane and brilliant. i fear the day when i wont remember how your skin smells after a shower.

love,
a.

so get a grip

or call it quits

said you wanted a solution

you just wanted to be missed